The Chronicles of Isobel Navale
by Biff McLaughlin
Summary: This is a series of one shots based on the adventures of Isobel Navale. Rated M for suggestive scenes. F!Dovahkiin/various pairings.
1. Excitement

**Is this the excitement you were looking for?**

Isobel's father had always said she was a wild child who would land in a world of hurt at an early age, and she was indeed hurting a great deal when she awoke, feeling herself jostled about against the side of a wagon. Her head was pounding and she hurt all over. A man's voice cut through the mead-induced haze in her head, a whining, frightened sound, complaining of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wanted to tell him to shut up, but it seemed prudent to keep quiet until she knew where she was. She opened one eye a crack and tried to pull a hand up to shield her eyes, but her efforts were cut short with the rattle of chains. She looked down at her hands to find them manacled together, the chain looped through a metal ring along the side of the wagon. Imperial guards were steering the wagon. She felt a growing pit of unease in her stomach.

"What the..."

"Quiet, lass," came a whisper from behind her.

Isobel straightened up and looked over her shoulder to find a Nord staring back at her. "_You_."

"The name's Ralof." he said with a smirk.

She looked back at her hands, trying to figure if she could get herself out of this. With no lock picks, it looked rather hopeless. "Yeah, I remember. What the hell have you gotten me into, old man?"

"Oh ho, last night I was an _experienced warrior_, today I'm an _old man_?"

"I was well into my cups when you happened along," she hissed. "I can't always be held responsible for my actions."

"You hold your liquor well enough for a little Imperial girl," he snickered. "Is this the excitement you were looking for?"

She snorted and swivelled in her seat again. "Where are we?"

"Skyrim, lass. You've been arrested for crossing the border. You bragged quite loudly about sneaking over for a meal at exactly the wrong moment."

She gaped at that and leaned against the side of the wagon. Unable to think of anything to say, she held her tongue and scanned the others she was with. All Nords, for the most part, one of whom was gagged. He was watching her with great interest, or so it seemed. Although his gag covered half his face, he looked familiar and she tried to remember the night before, how she might have fallen in with these men. They all looked familiar, these Nords, and they were just her type. Big, muscular, marked by battle, drinkers with a more liberal attitude toward a woman like her. She was an Imperial by birth and her father's lineage, but her mother was a Nord, and Isobel was very much like a Nordic woman. She gambled, fought, and drank, and likely had done the last two very recently if her bruises and hangover were an indication. She was also a very charming and randy young woman who was quite comfortable in the company of men. She could imagine herself talking her way into their party, looking for someone to bed down with for the night. A memory of Ralof hitching her up onto his hips as she leaned against a wall came back to her and she groaned.

"Starting to remember are you now, lass? It was a good night...a _very _good night...until we were arrested."

_By the Divines, if I make it out of this alive... _"And what sort of trouble are you in, Ralof?"

"We're Stormcloaks."

"Shit." This was not good news. She had crossed the border illegally and was caught with rebels, and to insult to injury, she was an _Imperial _consorting with the so-called enemy. If she was particularly unlucky, and she felt she was, they would have discovered her cache of stolen goods; her coin purse was certainly gone, if there had been anything in it when they caught her. "Where are they taking us?"

Ralof didn't respond at first and she kicked at his leg. "Where are they taking us, Ralof?"

"Helgen. They haven't exactly said yet, but I imagine we're all to be executed."

Isobel's stomach rolled and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears she thought she felt there, wondering if _this_ was the sort of trouble her father had imagined. Fear and anger raged within her. She had done some stupid things in the past, but this...She opened her eyes and saw the walls of Helgen growing ever larger on the horizon. Swallowing hard against the tightness in her throat, she breathed deeply and began testing her manacles. There had to be a way out of this. She'd gotten herself out of all sorts of trouble in the past. _Think, think._

"Relax, girl, you'll hurt yourself."

She scowled at Ralof. "As if losing my head won't hurt. This isn't exactly what I wanted for my birthday," she hissed between clenched teeth. The guards were paying attention to them now.

"Oh, I didn't know you were celebrating. Happy birthday. How old _are _you, lass? Apparently I'm of an age that I should brag about being with a girl as young and pretty as you."

"Keep it down, back there." a guard warned them.

"Or what, you'll cut my head off?" Isobel retorted in a whisper.

The gagged man chuckled, drawing her attention back to his face. "Seventeen. How can you be so...so...ach. Who is _he_?" she asked Ralof, jutting her chin toward the other side of the wagon.

"Ulfric Stormcloak."

The smirk on his face managed to bring back more memories of her debauchery over the past few days and she felt her cheeks flush. She'd had a very good run pick pocketing and burgling her way along the Skyrim border and had stopped at an inn to celebrate her birthday with a drink and dinner. Somewhere along the way she had decided not to spend the night alone, and through some massive stroke of terrible luck, had fallen in with the _leader _of the Stormcloaks and a band of his men. That had surely been the beginning of this end. _Isobel Navale, beheaded for wandering off in search of a good time. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic._

They were at the keep's gate now, slowing down. The milk drinker was whining even louder, the guards yelling at him, pulling them out of the wagon one by one. Isobel felt numb and tried to convince herself she was dreaming, passed out in a drunken stupor somewhere, anywhere else but here, but the ground was all too real when she stumbled and fell out of the wagon onto her knees. She had never feared death. It seemed too remote, something that happened to old people, and her adventurous streak had shown her that she could defy death. Now, however, her blood ran cold and she thought to plead for her life with the kind looking guard who pulled her up to her feet again. Pride kept her mouth clamped shut and she bit her lip to lock it, watching with some pity as the fearful man tried to run and was shot in the back with an arrow, killed instantly.

And suddenly a guard was demanding to know her name. "Come on, we don't have all day," he snapped irritably.

"I-Isobel Navale of Imperial City, Cyrodiil. This..." Pride quickly went out the window. She should at least try reasoning with the guards. "This is a mistake, an accident, I haven't..."

"An Imperial in the company of these rebels? What, are you a _spy_?" he scoffed, turning to his captain. "Her name's not on the list."

"Who cares? Bloody deserves what she gets, doesn't she? Little slut whoring around with the Stormcloaks. Won't be long before she's betraying the Empire just like the rest of them."

"Hey, that's not..." she started. The captain slapped her, nearly sending her to her knees again.

She staggered, but held her ground and righted herself to glare at him defiantly. He grabbed her chin and held it tight. "Shut it, bitch, or I'll knock you down a peg or two more before we end you for good. Let's get on with this." He pushed her toward the growing line of men headed for the chopping block.

Isobel's eyes narrowed. Even with her imminent demise looming, she was envisioning ways to make the man pay for the way he'd treated her. The chopping block glistened in the sunlight, and with another twist in her stomach she realized it was wet with blood.

Someone was being forced to his knees and bent over the block. The executioner lifted the axe, dropped it, and the man's head fell into a bucket. The bucket was collected by another hooded man, dumped into a large barrel and put back by the block. Isobel closed her eyes and swallowed hard. _This is not how I thought I'd go, not even remotely._A strange sensation rippled through her then, and she rolled her shoulders and lifted her face to the skies, eyes scanning the clouds. A roar in the distance drew everyone's attention. It sounded like a bear.

"Did you hear something?" one guard asked another.

The captain called her name and a hand reached out to grab her arm, pulling her toward the chopping block, and then she was on her knees, her head being forced into place. The smell of blood made her gag. Tears welled up in her eyes and she squeezed them shut, tensing against the inevitable blow, but it didn't come. Again, a strange sensation passed through her body and the roaring sounded as though it was coming closer, and fast. Someone shrieked and a great force of air knocked her over. As Isobel rolled onto her knees, she caught sight of something she'd only ever seen in books, and the cold dread of death that she'd felt earlier paled in comparison to the fear that took hold of her then. A dragon was suspended in the air, mere feet away from her, its attention focused in the opposite direction. A great gout of fire shot out from its mouth and several Imperial guards and a few of Ulfric Stormcloak's men were set ablaze. The force of air from each flap of its monstrous wings stirred up dust and garbage within the courtyard, making it hard for her to see and find her footing.

"Come, lass! Trust me." Ralof reached out to grab her arm and hauled her up off the ground. "Run!"

As she scrambled to her feet, she saw Ulfric finally free himself of his bonds and gag. He lifted his hands to his mouth and shouted something at the dragon, pushing the beast forward as though he had the power of the wind in his voice. He turned and ran toward Isobel and Ralof with some of his men. Ralof tugged at her arm again, pulling her toward the keep.

For what felt like an eternity, it was as though the gates of Oblivion had opened up. Fire, stone, and mortar rained down on the courtyard and the ground shook with such tremendous force, Isobel marvelled that she was able to keep her footing. Everything was a blur and it was unbelievably hot. The sounds of men and women screaming mixed with the flapping of wings and the dragon's roars provided a deafening background for her chaotic struggle to escape. She was scared witless, she realized, but an instinct to survive, and Ralof's grip on her hand, kept her going.

They paused once they were in the confines of the keep, and Ralof and Ulfric talked in hushed tones, both looking over at Isobel every now and then. She stood near the body of another Stormcloak, staring down at him, trying to comprehend how her life had come to this, and she started to feel her control slipping away. Ralof caught sight of her sliding down the wall, tears rolling down her face, and went to her side.

"Isobel," he said sharply, pulling her to her feet again. "Isobel! Stay with me, lass. We're almost free."

She stared at him. "Free? There's a bloody dragon out there, Ralof! _A dragon._"

"I know, lass." He gave her a little shake and stared into her eyes. "But if you stick with me, you'll get out of here alive. Can you trust me?"

"Y-yeah, I think so." She squared her shoulders, trying to look braver than she felt. "But we have no weapons or armor, and there are these." She held up her hands, showing him the bindings and pointing to his.

Ralof looked down at the body by their feet. "Gunjar. Take his gear. He's rather small for a Nord, you should be able to adjust some of his armor so it doesn't fit too badly. We'll find weapons around here somewhere, something to get rid of these, and then we are going to get out of here."

As Ralof checked the locks on the doors, one of them opened and the Imperial captain and two of his men confronted them. Seeing Isobel, the captain sneered.

"I knew it, you traitorous little..."

Isobel cut his insult short, throwing a dagger into his throat. Ulfric and Ralof killed the other two guards in short order and searched the bodies for anything that might aid their escape. Keys, potions, more weapons and armor.

"Don't call me a bitch." Isobel muttered as she pulled the dagger out of the captain's throat.

Ralof laughed, unlocking their manacles. "I'll remember that. Let's go."

It was a test of Isobel's will to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and time slipped by. Guards, more guards, looting for supplies, killing frostbite spiders, cave bears. The fighting never seemed to stop, and then they were finally out in the fresh air again, just the three of them, the rest of the Stormcloaks either dead or fleeing in other directions. She wanted to shout out with joy when the sound of rushing air stopped her cold. Ralof and Ulfric pulled Isobel down to her knees behind a bush and Ralof pointed to the darkening sky. The dragon was flying off into the distance and she finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"I can't believe it. A dragon. And we're alive. I need a drink."

Ulfric laughed out loud. "Your drink is what got you into this mess in the first place, lass."

Ralof dropped a hand on her shoulder. "Isobel, we can part ways now, or you can come to Riverwood with me. My sister and her husband live there, you could rest a few days, stock up, and then you can decide where to go next."

She had nothing, knew no one, and had no place else to go. She nodded slowly. "Okay. Yes, I...by the Divines, this is insane." She ran a hand through her hair.

Ralof and Ulfric stepped aside to have a private conversation and then gripped arms, clapping each other on the back. They returned to Isobel and Ulfric gripped her shoulder.

"You're a brave woman, lass. If you want to join us, you'll be able to find us." And with that, he slipped into the trees and was gone.

The journey to Riverwood was a hard walk and progress was slow. Ralof and Isobel had to deal with Imperial soldiers, wolves, bears, and many more creatures. When they finally reached his sister's house in the dead of night, Isobel nearly wept with relief.

"Gerdur, this is Isobel," Ralof explained as his sister served them some bread and cheese. "We're in a bind and need a place to stay."

"I thought as much, Ralof. It might be best if you stay hidden a few days, down in the cellar. You know the room. We have supplies there as well, help yourself."

After they had eaten and cleaned up, Gerdur gathered blankets and pillows and a spare bedroll and led them to the cellar. Hugging Ralof and patting Isobel on the shoulder, she left the room and closed the door.

Isobel leaned against the wall and stared at the lone bed in the room. She wished she could stop thinking. Visions of the dragon, the execution, the view she had while her head was on the block, it all swirled around in her brain, making her stomach churn.

"Isobel, why don't you take the bed?" When she didn't respond, he stepped closer to look her in the eye. "Isobel?"

"I...I...don't want to be alone." Her dark green eyes pleaded with him.

Ralof slipped his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace. "You'll be all right, lass. It's been a rough day, even for an old man like me, but you've done well and you're safe now."

She let out a short laugh and rested her head against his chest. "I'm sorry I called you an old man."

They separated long enough to undress and then found each other again, bodies melding together. They made love slowly and drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

In the morning, they made love again. Later, as they dressed, Ralof announced that he would be leaving to meet Ulfric and the Stormcloaks. Isobel tried to hide her disappointment. She hadn't expected that they would stay together, but the thought of travelling alone had lost a great deal of appeal since her arrival in Skyrim.

Sensing her discomfort, he sat down. "Isobel, you can stay here for a while, see what work you can find, and earn enough coin to move on. Gerdur thinks you should head to Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf will likely have work for you and you can settle there. You don't have to, but the further away you get from Helgen, the safer you'll be from any Imperials who survived the attack. Besides, if you make a good impression and earn the title, you could become thane." He paused a moment and pulled her into his lap.

"You weren't thinking that we..."

"No," she replied gently, catching his drift. "I wasn't. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy your company, but I wasn't looking for anything permanent, and now..." Shrugging, she put a hand to his cheek. "Thank you, Ralof, for looking out for me."

"Well," he sighed as they stood and finished dressing. "I did feel a bit responsible for getting you arrested. If I had kicked you out of my bed that night, you might have left the inn."

Isobel laughed. "I doubt it. I doubt it very much."

Finally dressed and ready to look for work, she helped Ralof pack a bag with clothing, potions and enough food to get him to the next town. After a hearty meal with Gerdur and Hod, she walked with Ralof to the edge of Riverwood.

Ralof looked down at Isobel and smiled. "Take care of yourself, Isobel, and watch who you drink with."

She punched him in the arm. "You, too, Ralof." Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek. "I hope we meet again."

"Until then, lass."

She watched Ralof walk away until he disappeared over the horizon, and then turned her eyes to the skies. It was clear and sunny and the birds were singing. The events of the previous day seemed far way and if she tried, she could almost pretend nothing had happened. Isobel wasn't prone to fantasy, however, and could not deny the reality of her situation. Returning home, in the immediate future at least, was not an option.

"Whiterun," she whispered to herself. "Whiterun it is."

* * *

><p>AN: This is a little something that crept into my head and refused to leave, and so I am putting it out there (without a beta read, so hopefully there are no errors!). Thanks to The Elder Scrolls V for the universe. I envision that this will be a series of one shots from Isobel's life. I am, however, working on two others stories at this time (Dragon Age Origins/Awakening), so updates may be spotty. Shameless self-promotion - look those up if you have the time.

I do hope you'll review, because reviews are like candy without all the calories, and that is a very good thing.


	2. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

_Greetings! Just a quick note to thank Skyrim for the universe, and my friends Zevgirl and Zute, and reviewers Evalyne, EmpireAndAll and dragonborn for the reviews and support. I hope you'll keep reading and let me know what you think of this chapter. NSFW, by the way...Isobel was getting a bit randy! Cheers, Biff_

* * *

><p><strong>A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing<strong>

_To my dearest mother and father ~_

_I hope this finds you well. I am sorry if my extended absence has caused you concern. I did not intend to be gone this long, and I confess I never truly imagined I would travel this far. I am in Skyrim. So much has happened, but I fear I do not have enough ink and paper to tell you everything. Father, you were right. You always were a wise man, and I was foolish to brush aside your advice and knowledge. Mother, I thank you for all that you taught me. You always were an inspiration to me, but I had to follow my own heart, to explore the world. Marriage isn't quite what I want just yet. I hope I haven't disappointed you too much._

_I don't know when I will be able to return to Imperial City, but I will try. Know that I love you and miss you. I will let you know when I have settled down, and where. Isobel._

_Home,_ Isobel thought as she sealed the letter and paid the courier to deliver it. _A home of my own would be nice._

x ~ x ~ x

Isobel stayed in Riverwood for nearly two months, taking any job that presented itself, and learning everything she could to earn better coin and become more self-reliant. She chopped a great deal of wood for Hod; worked at the mill with Gerdur; helped Alvor, the blacksmith, make weapons and armor; hunted; made potions; served food and drink and cleaned rooms at the inn; studied the art of magic. She had particular skill in the schools of restoration and enchantment, and was able to offer her services to her neighbors in exchange for money or goods and services.

Now in a more introspective state of mind, Isobel kept a fairly low profile, staying away from drink and men. If she wasn't working, she was reading, writing in her journal, or simply exploring the area around Riverwood. She felt a certain amount of reflection regarding her near-death experience, and how she had come to have it in the first place, was necessary, and that her orientation skills needed to be honed. She was also more than a bit cautious about being questioned by any Imperials. Without travelling papers, she risked being arrested again.

In spite of this, Isobel found herself taking a greater interest in keeping cleaned up and looking more...ladylike, she realized one day with a laugh. After a few days in hiding and ample time to groom, Gerdur lent her a dress and boots, so she could go for a walk without looking out of place. Isobel was taken aback when she looked at herself in the mirror. The green dress clung to her figure, the corset and low neckline displayed her bosom more prominently than anything she'd worn in months, and the color suited her. A wave of shiny chestnut brown hair flowed past her shoulders, dirt and tangles a distant memory. Her skin was free of smudges and stains, her face and teeth cleaned, and she was reminded of her life in Imperial City, if only briefly.

It wasn't lost on Isobel that it was much easier to get a good deal from a merchant if she presented herself this way, especially if she twisted a lock of hair around her finger, wet her lips at just the right moment, or altered her tone of voice just so. This sparked an interest in observing others. She began to pay closer attention to the men and women of Riverwood and practiced ways of modifying her speech and moving her body to manipulate them. It wasn't such an easy thing to do; the town was lacking in single men and she didn't want to create any tension between herself and the womenfolk. She reserved her talents for getting help with mundane things like carrying supplies back to Gerdur and Hod's home, or negotiating better prices with merchants. Her infinite capacity for flirting would have to wait for a larger and more diverse population, she often reminded herself with a giggle.

Ralof entered her thoughts often, and Isobel wondered how he was. He lived a dangerous life in this time of civil war. A dragon, seeming to appear straight out of the pages of history books, only complicated matters. If there was one, there may be more. Sven's mother Hilde yelled about it often enough. Many times, Isobel thought back to the strange feelings she'd had just before the attack in Helgen, but she couldn't make sense of it. It was as though she felt dragon's presence before it appeared, but that was impossible, surely. Besides, the trauma of nearly being set on fire and eaten by a dragon had been a very shocking experience for the Imperial, and as much as she could, Isobel tried to convince herself that it was a freak experience, something that was really more than likely never going to happen again.

When she was finally ready to leave Riverwood, she gave Gerdur and Hod enchanted axes that would enable them to chop more wood with less effort.

"You have both been incredibly kind to me, and I will never forget it." She thought they both looked a bit teary, and she certain felt it. She embraced them both and turned and walked north, resisting the urge to look back.

x ~ x ~ x

Isobel arrived in Whiterun at dusk and was disappointed to see that the Imperial presence was obvious here, too. A guard stopped her at the gates to the city to inform her that the city was closed due to the spreading rumors of dragons in the area. She barely managed to repress a laugh at that. _Does he think the dragon will land at the gate and ask to be let in rather than set fire to the town from above?_She thought to herself. Her amusement was quickly followed by trepidation as she remembered her experience in Helgen. She fixed her gaze on the guard.

Slipping her pack off her shoulders, Isobel stretched her neck. She pulled her helm off, removed a few pins from her hair, and shook it out. Waves of chestnut brown hair framed her face and she smiled at the guard.

"Come now," she purred. "Do I look like a dragon, soldier?"

He didn't seem to know where to look. From Isobel's cascade of hair to her sparkling eyes to the form-fitting steel armor she wore, she was a lovely sight and wasn't like too many of the Imperial woman he knew. His own wife had never lifted a dagger before, let alone worn armor. Before he could answer her, Isobel stepped forward, a more serious look upon her face.

"Gerdur, of Riverwood, has sent me to seek Jarl Balgruuf's aid against the very threat you mention."

It wasn't _entirely _true, but it did the trick. The guard let her into the city, pointed out where she could rent a room for the night, and gave her some tips on how to approach the Jarl, from the best time of day to call, to how to present herself to him.

Isobel rented a room at the local inn, the Bannered Mare, changed into a plain tunic and leggings, and ordered a meal. The sound of running water she'd heard upon reaching the inn meant there might be a place in town where she could go for a swim, and she hoped it was possible. She'd gotten used to taking quick dips in the White River as she came up from the south, and didn't want to foul a clean bed with the dirt of the road. After a satisfying bowl of cabbage and apple stew, some venison sausage, goat's cheese and bread, and a slice of apple pie, she gathered up a towel, a bar of soap, and a wash cloth, and slipped out of the inn.

She had learned from the innkeeper, Hulda, that they were in the Plain District, so named because it was the lowest of the three levels of Whiterun and closest to the plains. The Wind District contained numerous homes, the Temple of Kynareth and Jorrvaskr, home of the Companions. The highest level of the city was called the Cloud District, dominated by Dragonsreach, the Jarl's residence. Isobel planned to go there first thing in the morning, but at the moment, her main interest was the stream of water that flowed down from Dragonsreach, and she found a semi-secluded pool of water, complete with a waterfall, tucked in behind the temple.

The sky was clear and the half moon bright, making the nearby walkway an inconvenience. It was late, however, and only the occasional guard had wandered by. Isobel found a patch of grass and stripped down to her underclothes. She slipped into the water and submerged herself completely, the chill of the water snatching her breath away. Resurfacing with a gasp, she swam around for a few moments before reaching for her soap and washcloth to clean up. As she rinsed herself off, she couldn't help feeling that she was being watched, and she turned back to the edge of the pool where her things were laid out. A dark Nordic man stood there, arms folded, watching her with a smirk. She should have perhaps been more surprised by his appearance than she was, but she didn't get a sense that he was a danger to her, and she smiled back at him. Keeping a low profile suddenly became a dreaded dry spell.

"Good evening, Nord."

He laughed. "Good evening, Imperial."

She floated on her back for a moment, giving him a good view of her lean, muscular body, and then rolled forward to swim back toward him. "That sounds so..._impersonal_. Why don't you call me Isobel. What's your name?" Batting her eyelashes at him, she waited for a response.

"Farkas."

Isobel licked her lips and climbed out of the pool, reaching for her towel. She began drying herself off, not appearing the least bit ashamed to be nearly naked in front of a stranger.

"Well, good evening, Farkas. What can I do for you?" She thought she heard him growl and fixed her gaze on him as she started pulling her clothes on.

He laughed again, his eyes wandering over her body before finally settling on her face. "Good evening Isobel. I was simply walking home and was...curious. It isn't too often that you see someone swimming here. Isn't it cold?"

"Cold enough that _you _might not want to swim in it, I suppose." she replied with a less than discrete glance at his groin. "I, however, have come to enjoy it and find it bracing. I don't imagine bathing here is allowed, but the inn's facilities leave a bit to be desired."

Her tunic clung to her, making her stiff nipples quite noticeable. Farkas tried to divert his eyes, but she was making it rather difficult. When she tied her hair up, her tunic pulled at her breasts, revealing their full bounty. As she bent over to gather her things, he had a very nice view of her full bottom. Her hips were a bit narrow. She was young, but not too much so. If he was reading her correctly...he laughed inwardly. The beast in him could _smell _her; she wanted to mate.

"Farkas?" She moved closer to him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Isobel?" He found her fascinating. She was bold and confident, and clearly knew what she wanted. This...whatever he was contemplating doing...was not something he normally did, but he couldn't help responding to her.

"I wonder if would mind giving me a tour of town. I've only just arrived and haven't seen much of it yet."

He nodded and held out his arm. She looped her elbow in his and he walked her out to the main path through Whiterun.

"I have seen the Plain District. The homes around here are quite nice."

"I live up there, in Jorrvaskr." He gestured ahead of them, up a flight of stairs to a building that looked like a boat turned upside down. "There is quite a view from the Skyforge."

"Show me," she said with a nudge to his arm.

And so he walked her up to Jorrvaskr, around it to the stairs that cut into the mountain, and up to the Skyforge. The forge was still glowing, but the blacksmith Eorlund Gray-Mane was nowhere to be seen. Farkas led Isobel to the edge of the plateau they were on. From there, they looked down on the lower portions of the city and out over the plains. Outdoor fires and torches dotted the landscape, some homes' windows glowed brightly, and the moon and stars lit the sky above them. Isobel sucked in her breath, stunned by the beauty of it.

"It's beautiful, Farkas." she whispered, looking up at him.

He nodded. "Dragonsreach is in the Cloud District behind us. The guards do not like company at this time of night, but it is something to see. You should come back tomorrow."

"That is exactly what I plan to do." She replied as she stared at the moon.

He tipped his head back down to Jorrvaskr. "Would you like some ale?"

Isobel tucked a wave of hair behind her ear and smiled at Farkas. "I would."

Jorrvaskr was a large longhouse with a cooking pit, bar, and a large eating area with ample seating on the main floor. There were living quarters beneath it, Farkas explained as he fetched bottles of Nord ale for them. The place was empty, save for an older woman who had seen them arrive and brought them a plate of cheese and bread. She gave Farkas a knowing glance and smiled at Isobel before disappearing again.

"So, Isobel. What is your story?" Farkas asked as he sliced the cheese and ripped up the bread for them.

"There isn't much to tell, really. I fancy myself to be a bit of an adventurer, explorer, jack of all trades, master of none." She shrugged. "I've travelled from Riverwood to seek the Jarl's aid on the town's behalf. I am looking for work and a place to set up a home base, I suppose." She winked at him. "I'm also hoping for more...pleasant diversions, no strings attached."

Farkas let out a short bark of a laugh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Please, lass, don't hold back on my account, tell me what it is you want." he joked.

Isobel laughed and helped herself to some food. "I think life is too short to waste time on being coy. I was nearly eaten by a dragon, recently."

His eyes widened at her admission. "Really?"

"True story. I swear it on my life." She raised a hand as if to prove how serious she was.

"That must have been..."

"Terrifying? Yes, it was. Invigorating? Absolutely. And of course when something like that happens to you, you piss yourself and are reminded how precious life is and how fragile it can be." She took a large swig of ale. "And you? What's your story? Are you married, do you have a family?"

He laughed, trying to remember a time when he had felt so at ease with anyone outside the order. Gesturing to the room they were in, he said, "I am single, and a member of the Companions. They are my family. We have work, if you're interested, and we are always looking for members."

"And pleasant diversions?" She raised an eyebrow at him, her tongue sliding between her lips.

He wondered what those lips would be like to kiss. "We may have some of those." It had been a while. He couldn't believe his luck that this lovely young woman was offering herself to him.

She drank from her bottle of ale, her tongue flicking at the mouth of it to offer a suggestion of what such a diversion might entail, and Farkas had to fight to control the urge to howl and take her on the table, right then and there. The moment gave him pause; could he control himself with this woman? Isobel leaned forward and put her hand on his.

"If I'm being too forward for you, Farkas..."

His mind made up, he gripped her wrist. "Not at all, lass." He stood and pulled her up out of her seat.

Isobel's pulse raced as she wondered what sort of lover Farkas might be. The gleam in his eye and the strength in his grip suggested he might be more aggressive than Ralof and her other lovers, and she wasn't sure what to expect. It was exciting and she could feel her body's response to him building between her legs.

He looked around the longhouse, thinking the rooms downstairs were not as private as he'd like.

"You say you have a room at the Bannered Mare?"

"The rooms don't have doors, Farkas. The thought of being watched is strangely erotic, but that would be the 'at a public house within shouting distance of the bar' kind of watching that doesn't appeal to me." She smirked. "I think I have an idea. I have certain..._skills_that come in handy at a time like this. On my way into town, I saw an abandoned house next to Warmaiden's. I can get us in there. We'd be alone, no one to bother us..." Isobel swayed her hips back and forth suggestively as she spoke.

"Let's go out the back." She pulled Farkas toward the door. "We can sneak along the city's walls and go in through one of windows."

Farkas wore a wolfish grin that sent a thrill down Isobel's spine. "Breezehome, they call it. It's for sale. I'm a warrior, lass, not a sneak thief, but I'm in." Quite suddenly, he felt years younger, ready, willing and very eager.

They slipped out the back door and did as Isobel suggested, avoiding guards until they finally stood in the shadows beneath a window at the back of Breezehome. She pulled a lock pick out of a pocket and began working the lock. After barely a moment had passed, she was pushing the window open and motioning to Farkas to give her a boost up. She climbed in and stood back, startled at how easily he managed to jump up to the window ledge with no assistance.

Isobel pointed to a ladder going to the second floor and Farkas grabbed her wrist again, pulling her up behind him. Beams of moonlight shone through the roof, casting soft light and shadows over the hallway and two rooms there. She put her things on a chair, and found a candle on a side table in one of the bedrooms, lighting it with a flame she conjured in the palm of her hand. Farkas watched as she flicked her hand to put the fire out.

"As I said, I have certain talents..."

Her voice trailed off as he began to remove his armor, his eyes locked with hers. As each piece fell to the floor, Isobel's eyes widened and her knees weakened. Farkas was very well built, his arm, chest and stomach muscles chiseled from years of wearing armor and wielding weapons. When he was finally in nothing but his underclothes, his desire for Isobel now very evident, he advanced on her.

Sliding his hands into her hair, he crushed his lips against hers. His tongue plundered the depths of her mouth, his teeth nipped at her lips, and he couldn't get enough of the soft mewling sounds of pleasure she was making as her hips ground against his. He dragged his hands down her back, gripping her firm behind and finally pushing her clothing off. She pulled her tunic up over her head and untied her breast band, dropping them both with little regard for where they landed.

Farkas stared at her and ran his calloused hands over her pale skin. Growling with lust, he grabbed her waist and pulled her body to his, their mouths meeting in another heated kiss. The feel of her breasts against his chest inflamed his desire and he forced a knee between her legs. She was damp and ready for him, and the animal in him took over.

He pushed Isobel to her knees and forward onto her hands, kneeling behind her. She was surprised at first, and tried to face Farkas, but he gripped her hips and bent over to dip his tongue into her moist folds, tasting her and breathing in her scent.

She gasped and leaned back into him, tilting her bottom up. "Yes, gods, _yes!_"

Thick fingers teased her, played with the nub of flesh within her folds, and Isobel could feel an orgasm building within her. She wanted him to slow down, but his dominance was fueling her excitement almost as much as his skill, and she gave herself over to him. She came quickly and just as suddenly, Farkas was thrusting into her with a sharp jerk of his hips. He was well endowed and she cried out as he filled her, her body adjusting to his girth. He was wild and rough, his fingers digging into her hips as he pushed into her harder and harder, and the pleasure and pain built into a second orgasm, more powerful than the first. Isobel's body shuddered and clenched around him, her arms and legs tingled, and she dropped her head and shoulders to the floor.

Farkas pulled away from Isobel and flipped her onto her back, lifting her hips as he repositioned himself between her legs. She begged him not to stop and he was all too happy to oblige, sliding back into her warm center as his thumb massaged her bud of pleasure. She was a glorious sight, laid out before him as she was, full breasts bouncing with their movements, legs wrapped around his waist. He could feel his own crisis building and withdrew to spill his seed across Isobel's belly, sliding his fingers back into her body to bring her to a final climax. She stiffened and shuddered, shouting out, and finally fell back to the floor, panting. He used his tunic to wipe her stomach off, and pulled her into his arms. They lay together for several minutes before he spoke.

"Welcome to Whiterun."

Isobel laughed. "Thank you, pleasure to be here. I think I'm going to like this place."

"You might need another bath. This house has been empty for a while now and I can't say how good the housekeeping has been."

She stood and rubbed herself off with her towel. "I can always rinse my hair at the inn. They have a few rain barrels out back."

He watched her dress and finally pulled himself up off the floor to get his things together. "You will take Riverwood's message to the Jarl tomorrow and then what?"

"Look for work. You say this place is for sale?"

"Yes, but you will need the Jarl's permission to purchase property here. I am sure you can work your charms on him, but be discrete. He is married and has children."

She snorted. "I don't dally with married men, Farkas, so thank you for the heads up. I've learned everybody wants something, and it's _rarely_something sexual, which is too bad really. All the same, I'm sure I can work out a deal with the man."

He folded his tunic up and put on his armor, leaving his cuirass loosely buckled. "I don't doubt that, Isobel."

Dressed, they exited Breezehome the way they'd entered. Luck was with them; it was much later now and clouds had obscured the moon, making it easier for them to walk to the Bannered Mare unnoticed. Hiding in the shadows, Farkas pinned Isobel against the rough wood and plaster building and pressed his lips to hers. Soft, sweet, and inviting, they responded, and she groaned as she kissed him. He took a fistful of her hair in his hand and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. She felt his tongue drag along her skin to a pulse point, and he nibbled her flesh there, finally kissing her again and letting her go. Catching her breath, she put her hand on his chest.

"Good night, Farkas. Gods keep you safe until we meet again."

"And you, lass." He brushed her cheek with his hand and turned toward Jorrvaskr, disappearing into the darkness.

Isobel made her way to the main entrance of the inn and was just about to open the door when she heard it, a wolf howling. A thrill went down her spine. It sounded as though the animal were very close by. She smiled, reminded of Farkas growling as they'd made love, and entered the inn, slipping into her room unnoticed.

As she crawled into bed and tried to imagine what tomorrow's visit to the Jarl would bring, she had no idea just how much her life was going to change.


	3. Enter the Silver Hand

**Enter the Silver Hand**

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater waved his staff away and gestured to Isobel to come closer. She approached him and paused at the base of the stairs leading to his throne, waiting to be invited up. To the apparent shock of the rest of his audience, who gasped and murmured in response, Balgruuf stood and went to Isobel's side.

"You do not look well."

"I am sorry, my lord. I haven't slept in...two days..." She could barely think straight and ached all over. A bed would be glorious. "I wanted to make myself more presentable, but Irileth thought you would want a rep-"

"I want my healer to examine you." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, barking orders. "Proventus, fetch Ingrid. Irileth, a chair for the girl, and some water."

Taking a kinder tone with Isobel, he helped her sit on the chair his housecarl brought over and then crouched beside her. "While we're waiting, why don't you tell me what happened out there?"

_Gods, what did happen?_ Isobel asked herself. She wasn't entirely sure she understood what the others babbled about after she struck the killing blow to the dragon's throat, but something very strange had happened, and it hadn't ended with the damned beast's death. She was seeing and hearing things and everyone from the group who'd gone with her was calling her Dragonborn. Stories of Tiber Septim came to mind and she wasn't at all sure she liked the idea of being as widely known of as the God of War and Governance himself. _It's ridiculous._

"Yes, my lord. I...ah...we...we found the dragon and killed it..."

He laughed, holding a cup of water to her lips. "It was that easy, was it? Drink this. Slowly."

"More or less that easy," she mumbled.

Balgruuf was regarding her with a strange look and a thread of anxiety wove its way through the weariness she felt.

"And when it died...I...I can't describe it. The beast died, and it burst into flames before my very eyes, and a surge of energy..." She waved a hand weakly, at a loss to put the moment into words. It had felt like nothing else she'd ever experienced.

"And then...no, It's silly, I haven't been sleeping, I must have been hearing things."

"No," one of the guards interjected. "We heard the dragon Mirmulnir speak to her as it died. 'Dovahkiin, no' it said." The others who had returned from the Western Watchtower with Isobel and Irileth nodded, murmuring their agreement.

"She uttered a _shout_, my Jarl. And you must have felt it not too long ago. When we neared the city, we felt a rumbling disturbance."

Balgruuf's eyes searched Isobel's, humor and curiosity dancing there. "I did, but...is it possible?" he whispered to himself. "The Greybeards are calling you, Isobel. You must go to High Hrothgar as soon as possible."

She thought to ask him what he meant, but the world suddenly felt like a listing ship and Balgruuf was reaching out to catch her as she fell to the ground. The last thing she heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the Jarl's voice, deeply concerned, demanding that a room be prepared for her at once.

x ~ x ~ x

Isobel awoke in a sea of luxury, on a thick mattress covered with sheets and blankets the likes of which she had never seen. Her armor was on a stand nearby, repaired and polished, along with a clean tunic and leggings made of what appeared to be linen. She smelled better than she had smelled in days and realized she'd been bathed.

"Where am I?" she asked out loud, not expecting an answer.

"Dragonsreach," a pleasant, motherly voice replied, startling her. An older woman appeared at her side and began to wipe her forehead with a cool cloth.

"What?" Isobel was slightly alarmed. "How...? Who are you?" She struggled to sit up and the woman helped position her against the headboard.

"My name is Ingrid, and I am the Jarl's healer. You collapsed during your audience with him and he insisted that we see to your well being."

This was beginning to sound familiar to Isobel and she rubbed her head. "Am I okay? How long have I been here?"

"You are remarkably well for someone who spent the better part of a day slaying a dragon and hasn't slept properly for who knows how long. You were exhausted, bruised, beaten up. You've been sleeping for about day now." Ingrid began checking the bandages and poultices she had applied to Isobel's various wounds, slightly startled by what she saw. The girl was healing rather quickly and her color was much improved.

Isobel tried to climb out of bed. "A day? A _full _day? I shouldn't impose upon Jarl Balgruuf's hospitality any longer, I..."

Ingrid put a hand on Isobel's shoulder. "If the Jarl wishes to care for you, he will. Relax." She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap, her kind eyes searching Isobel's face. "The Jarl wants to speak to you. I promised him I would bring you to him when you were ready, but I expect you are hungry, yes?"

Isobel's stomach growled, a perfectly timed response to the question. She grinned sheepishly and nodded. "I think so."

Ingrid went to the door and stepped out. Isobel could hear her speaking with someone, a servant perhaps. Ingrid returned a moment later with a flagon of wine and a goblet. Isobel watched as the nurse filled the goblet and put it on the bedside table for her. She then turned to the wardrobe and opened it.

"The Jarl's wife has provided this for you to wear this evening," she said, holding out a red dress with fine embroidery along the neck and hemline. She held a set of new underclothes in her other hand, and lay the garments at the end of the bed.

There was a knock at the door and a moment later a servant entered with a tray of food. The young woman set the tray upon Isobel's lap and retreated with a smile. The scents of roasted salmon and vegetables with a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread assaulted her senses and for a moment all she could do was breathe in the delicious smells. Her stomach growled again and with a laugh she dug in. Ingrid watched as Isobel polished off the meal, an amused smile on her face. When the plate was empty, she set the tray aside and levelled her gaze on Isobel.

"Let's get you dressed and ready."

It was a new experience for Isobel, this being cared for, waited on, and dressed. It wasn't unlike living in a fairy tale and she wished she could enjoy it more, but she was feeling rather anxious. She was having a hard time seeing the Jarl in this new light. He seemed far...kinder than when she'd first met him. He'd been stern, seemingly unimpressed by her, his primary interest being to protect his hold and his people. He supported the Imperials and she had wondered more than once what he might think if he found out about how she had come to live in Skyrim. _Surely he could have arranged to have someone take me back to my room at the Bannered Mare and care for me there. Why keep me here? It mustn't have been safe to move me._But she couldn't feel any evidence of serious injuries, and couldn't recall being that hurt when she'd returned. Before she knew it, Ingrid was arranging her hair in a thick braid and stepping back to view the results of her efforts.

"And there you are, fit for a meeting with the Jarl." She picked up a pair of soft leather slippers and handed them to Isobel. "Put these on and I will take you to him."

"Ingrid, am I...I mean, I'm not...in...trouble? Or...something?"

The healer laughed and reached out to pat Isobel's cheek. "Oh no, dear Isobel, you are not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually, but the Jarl does not like it when others steal his thunder, as he puts it. Come along." She put a hand at the small of Isobel's back and steered her out of the room.

"Try not to look so nervous, child. You should be very pleased with yourself. It isn't everyday that a slip of a girl can impress Jarl Balgruuf the Greater as much as you have."

Ingrid walked her out of the Jarl's quarters to the great hall. Isobel barely noticed the grandeur of her surroundings, she was so nervous. All this talk of dragonborns and shouts, and what had happened to her at the watchtower, were all adding up to be more than she had bargained for. _So much for keeping a low profile._

Balgruuf's usual retinue was with him, and they all stared at her when she walked into the room. She felt intensely uncomfortable and it took every ounce of effort not to turn and walk out again. Ingrid's hand at the small of her back provided just enough encouragement to get her all the way to the Jarl's throne.

He wasted no time getting to the point. "You have done us a great service, Isobel, and I want to name you Thane of Whiterun. You have my permission to purchase property here. Talk to Proventus, he can help you with that. I will also provide you with a housecarl." He snapped his fingers in the air. "Lydia!"

A dark-haired Nord woman stepped forward and bowed to Balgruuf. "It would be an honor, my Jarl." She smiled and bowed to Isobel, as well.

Isobel barely managed to smile in return, trying instead to pay attention to Balgruuf. He was talking about the Greybeards again, suggesting she was Dragonborn, to the apparent dismay of his steward.

"You must not keep them waiting, Isobel. You should leave in the morning. Lydia will see to it that you are properly outfitted and have enough rations for the journey. I will also send a donation of supplies for you to give to the Greybeards when you arrive."

"Yes, my Jarl." Isobel was nervous and apprehensive about what was being thrust upon her without as much as an 'if you please', and how it might focus attention on her, but she found herself getting excited at the thought of a new adventure.

The Jarl handed her a goblet of wine and raised his own cup to her. "To Isobel Navale, Thane of Whiterun."

The rest of the evening was a blur for Isobel, worried as she was about being thrust into the fray, as it were. She gladly took advantage of the Jarl's generosity with his mead and guest room and did her best to enjoy herself, lest this were her last chance to do so.

x ~ x ~ x

When Isobel returned from High Hrothgar three weeks later, she was a different woman in many respects. She was stronger, faster, leaner, and felt she was at the peak of her health. She had come to understand her fate as the Dragonborn and didn't fear it as much as she would have thought; it came with benefits, after all. Isobel learned more about the new form of magic she had discovered, shouts, or Thu'ums, and mastered one under the training of the Greybeards. With Unrelenting Force, she could push things away from her. She had learned part of another shout, Whirlwind Spirit, which allowed her to run much faster for a short period of time. She was Dragonborn, like Tiber Septim, or Talos, the 'greatest hero-god of Mankind', as he was often called. This was a gift the gods had bestowed upon her, it would open a whole new world of possibilities for her, and she felt she could do _anything_.

Isobel had sent word ahead to her housecarl, Lydia, that she would be returning, and found the woman waiting for her when she stepped into her new house, Breezehome, at midday.

"Honor to you, my thane." Lydia met her at the door, bowed slightly, and took Isobel's cloak and bag. "There is stew in the pot, and some bottles of ale are chilling in a bucket at the back of the room. Is there anything I can get you?"

"A tour of the house would be nice and I'd like to get out of this armor and into some real clothes before too long." She had gone swimming earlier in the day to get cleaned up, but everything she had with her was dirty.

Lydia nodded and paused in the middle of the main room of the house. "Living room and dining room here." She nodded toward the fire pit, which sat a few feet inside the front door dominating the room, chairs set before it. "You've got quite a bit of storage here, and an alchemy lab in this back room." She tipped her head toward the stairs.

Isobel climbed up the stairs and looked around the landing. There were cupboards and chairs tucked into the corners, and the rest of the space was divided into two rooms. The floor was sturdy enough, but the planks were not fit together tightly, and she could see through them to the floor below. What little smoke there was from the fire drifted up through the floorboards to the ceiling and was then whisked away through vents that appeared at regular intervals along the peak of the roof. Lydia showed Isobel where she slept and then pointed to the room on the opposite side of the landing.

Isobel opened the doors and stepped into the larger of the two bedrooms. There were trunks and side tables for storage, a small table and two chairs sat in one corner, and a large bed was set up against the wall opposite the door. The standard furs and blankets that most Nords slept on covered the bed, and candlelight sent shadows flickering around the room. She nodded, pleased with how the place had been fixed up.

"I like it, it's cozy."

There was no place to bathe, however, and she wrinkled her nose at the sight of a chamber pot by the bed. It was a minor thing; she could always go swimming, or they could bring water in from the rain barrels and warm it by the fire, and wash that way, or bring in a tub...her thoughts drifted off as her stomach growled.

"Lydia, let's eat. I'm starving." She was hungry for more than just stew and ale, and hoped to track down Farkas later, but kept that thought to herself as her housecarl helped her out of her armor and went back downstairs to serve their dinner. Isobel changed into a pair of loose pants and a tunic and returned to the first floor.

The two women sat by the fire and ate, and Isobel asked questions about Whiterun, what Lydia's duties would be, and what being Thane meant, exactly. As it turned out, it simply meant the Jarl favored her and she was more likely to get away with breaking the law in his hold. Some would hold her in higher esteem because of that title, but word had already spread throughout the hold that Isobel was the next Dragonborn and would surely save them all from the returning dragons. Lydia felt she was bound to earn respect based on that fact alone. Others might resent her for her sudden rise in favor, and even more still were likely to be too concerned with their own survival to pay her any mind.

As Lydia cleaned up, Isobel stared into the fire, drinking her ale and pondering her next move. She craved adventure and excitement, but would need to continue to earn a living. Treasure was never a guaranteed thing. Perhaps if she concentrated her efforts in Whiterun for a time, she could establish herself and her home base; it had worked for her in Riverwood, though she had not stayed there long.

"A Septim for your thoughts, my thane."

Isobel looked up to find the dark haired woman regarding her with amused curiosity.

"Please, Lydia, call me Isobel. I mean, if you have to be formal in front of other people, fine, but when we're here at home, Isobel will do." She put her empty ale bottle down and stood up to stretch. "I was just thinking I might go out to track down a friend of mine, have a few drinks, see where the evening takes us..." She let her voice drift off suggestively and winked at Lydia.

The Nord woman blushed and looked away. "Should I find another place to stay this evening?"

Isobel laughed. "You'd do that? No, it's not necessary, and where would you go anyway?"

"My father lives here." Lydia replied, pointing to the Wind District.

After a moment's pause, when Isobel did consider asking Lydia to go to her father's house for the evening, she shook her head. "Thank you, but no. This is your home, too, Lydia. If you _want _to spend the night somewhere else, do, but don't go out of your way on my account."

"As you wish, Isobel. Perhaps I could unpack your things, send your laundry out?"

"Yes, please, Lydia. Thanks." Isobel pointed out what she wished to keep and what she would be improving and enchanting for a higher resale value, and then paused thoughtfully. "You should pick out the best of the armor and weapons, and I'll fix them up for you."

She left Lydia's company shortly thereafter, and wandered up to Jorrvaskr. The windows burned brightly, but she could hear the sound of weapons clashing and circled the building until she found the training area around back. What she saw surprised her; Farkas apparently had a twin brother. The two men were standing with their heads close together, talking, gesturing with their hands. It seemed an important conversation and she kept to the shadows, watching the two men, trying to figure out which one was Farkas.

The wind shifted and Farkas could smell that the rumor he'd heard at the Bannered Mare was true; the Imperial girl was back. His eyes scanned the area and he caught sight of her leaning against a nearby wall. He put a hand on his brother's arm.

"Let us speak of this tomorrow, brother. I believe a friend wishes to see me."

Vilkas looked over his shoulder to see the Imperial woman standing in the shadows. This was his brother's latest infatuation, surely, not a recruit. She certainly was a curiosity. Rumor had it she was the most recent to fall into the Jarl's favor, and that she might be Dragonborn. Farkas was clearly ensnared in whatever web she was weaving, and Vilkas didn't like it. His brother wasn't the brightest star in the skies and was ruled by his passions. She was smiling, raising a hand to wave at Farkas. She smiled coyly, batted her eyelashes, and licked her lips. Vilkas suspected she was a well-schooled manipulator and had his brother wrapped around her little finger, but he couldn't blame Farkas and was even envious of his brother's good luck; she was young, good looking, and healthy. He nodded and watched as Farkas went to the Imperial. The two of them chatted briefly, and then they disappeared around the side of Jorrvaskr, Farkas's hand at the small of her back.

x ~ x ~ x

They drank at the Bannered Mare over a tray of cheese, bread, and apples, and Isobel told Farkas stories of her adventures. He laughed to think of her actually enjoying her time with the Greybeards. As she put it, they were four old men, who did not speak, save for the one who instructed her. They spent most of their waking hours in silent contemplation of the way of the voice, ate simply, and did not drink. It had clearly done her some good, though; she looked healthier than he recalled.

"Three weeks at High Hrothgar. I just can't see it," he chuckled as they settled their bill and left the inn.

They walked toward the city gates and she left a breath of air out in a huff. "Please, if it had been that easy I'd have only been gone a week. No, to begin with, there's the bloody climb up there. They say it's seven thousand steps, but I think that's an exaggeration. I can understand why the Greybeards don't leave the place." She held up a hand and began counting. "The damn steps, wolves, bears, ice wraiths, an ice troll, and a bloody dragon! I managed to avoid most of them, either by sneaking past or scaling the mountain, but there were some moments there..." She shook her head with a grimace.

"Then there were the tests, to see if I could shout and learn how to use other shouts, and it started the moment I got there! No time to rest, to clean up, eat. Then they sent me off to find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and that wasn't-"

Farkas grabbed her arm and stopped her, his eyes wide. "You went to Ustengrav?"

She nodded, smiling to the city guard who opened the gates for them. "Nearly froze my ass off, thank you. And of course no tomb is only ever full of dead bones. If I weren't adept with the restoration spells and potions, we would not be having this conversation. I can't tell you how happy I am I took up archery."

He laughed out loud at that and encouraged her to keep talking. He was taking her to a small grove of trees near the river, hoping no one was camping there. "But you found the horn?"

"Yes and no. It's a bit of a story, but someone else had taken it, to lure me to Riverwood for a conversation. Of course I had no choice but to go. Turns out it was a friend, of sorts, and I've...agreed to help her with something that will...What's this?"

They had stopped by a stand of trees along the river. Farkas peered into the canopy of green and smiled, leading Isobel through the trees to a small patch of grass with a fire pit, within steps of the water. The shoreline was rocky enough here that mudcrabs wouldn't be able to get to them without making a great deal of noise first; it was a safe spot.

Farkas pulled a fur out of his pack and unrolled it, laying it out on the ground. A small pile of kindling and firewood was nearby and he quickly built a fire while Isobel got settled on the fur.

"I thought you might like this. It's a fishing hole, campsite for hunters, a place to watch the stars..."

Isobel leaned back and looked up. The sky was clear, the stars sparkled brilliantly, and pink and blue wisps of color undulated across it all. She sighed. "It is nice."

He couldn't resist the sight of her exposed neck and crouched down beside Isobel, pulling her into his arms. She gasped with surprise, but moaned softly as his lips worked their way from her jaw down to her throat.

"Yes, Farkas, this is very nice," she whispered huskily, taking fistfuls of his hair in her hands. The smell of steel, leather, oil, and sweat filled her senses. She had missed his affections, truth be told. Perhaps she would join the Companions.

x ~ x ~ x

It wasn't long before Farkas presented Isobel to the Companions' harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. He was indeed that, Isobel thought, with his white hair and beard. She wondered why she hadn't seen him before, and recalled that Farkas had said he was ill. Her first impression was that he was a fair and kind man. He reminded her a bit of her own father, really, and she liked him instantly. Not everyone else was as receptive to her potential joining as Farkas and Kodlak. Vilkas seemed against it entirely. Isobel had been around Jorrvaskr enough to know that the Companions thought Farkas was the muscle, and Vilkas was the brain. Her charms would not work on him. Her fighting skills and cunning were more likely to win him over and as it was, Kodlak wanted Vilkas to take Isobel out to the training grounds to spar. Vilkas scowled at her and stalked out the back of Jorrvaskr. Tossing a winning smile to Kodlak and Farkas, she followed.

"No magic or shouting!" Farkas called after her with a laugh. "I think Vilkas is going to be surprised."

Vilkas was waiting, a practice sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He nodded to a weapons rack where dulled daggers and swords of various sizes were hung. She chose two short swords and squared off against him.

He lunged at her, bringing his shield up and swinging out low with his sword. Isobel jumped up and to the side, deftly avoiding both weapons, and spun around, smacking Vilkas's backside with one sword. Other Companions were gathering to watch and Vilkas growled angrily at the taunt. Turning to face her again, he barely had time to bring his shield up to protect himself before she thumped both swords against it, pushing him back a few steps. There was some applause from the growing crowd. He bellowed, rushing at her, and again she spun to one side. Rather than embarrass him further with a smack to the bottom, which would have been quite possible, she simply waited for him to catch his balance and face her again. She was ready to begin sparring in earnest and briefly regretted antagonizing Vilkas. He came at her hard.

For several minutes they exchanged blows, scoring point for point. Vilkas began to turn the tables on Isobel, spanking her with his shield more than once and calling her a little imperial girl, which threw her off just a bit. When he became more aggressive and rushed her repeatedly, she resorted to tumbling tricks to evade him, but she lost one sword during a back roll. Thinking Vilkas to be slower than he was, she tried to retrieve it, only to find him pinning the blade to the ground with his foot. He raised his sword, but she abandoned the blade and rolled away. Leaping to her feet, she realized too late that Vilkas had rushed at her again. He didn't hit her hard, just enough to knock her to the ground, and promptly stepped on her second sword.

"Do you yield?" he asked with a certain smugness. He didn't think much of the shift in the air or the murmur of voices around them, and simply stared down at Isobel.

She smiled, a glint in her eye. "I do not, Vilkas, and if I were you I'd be very careful what you do next. I haven't figured out how to conjure dull bound blades yet." She moved her free arm slightly and he felt something poke his behind.

There was laughter from all around them now, and he turned just enough to see that she was holding the point of a magic blade to his arse. Even though it barely appeared to there, for he could see through it, it felt real enough. He couldn't help but let out a gruff laugh as she relaxed her arm to give him room to move.

"Fair enough, lass. Fair enough." Standing back, he reached out a hand to her and pulled her up to her feet. "You've got skill and you're resourceful, I'll give you that."

Isobel smiled sweetly and squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

Kodlak joined them and raised an eyebrow at Vilkas.

"She can do well enough in a fight," he admitted.

"Come now," one of the women nearby called out. "She did better than I did when I first joined."

"There's plenty of ale to be had if you wish to nurse your ego, Vilkas," another member shouted with a laugh as the group broke up and everyone continued with their own tasks.

Kodlak clapped a hand on Isobel's shoulder and smiled. "I must retire, but we will speak again. You are always welcome, Isobel."

She could see Farkas smiling at her from the steps of Jorrvaskr, but Vilkas was speaking again, passing a sword to her. And so it was that her career with the Companions began. She was to run errands. Winking at Farkas, she did as she was asked.

x ~ x ~ x

_The Companions have given me one final challenge before inducting me. I am to retrieve a fragment of Wuuthraad, the Blade of Ysgramor, from Dustman's Cairn, while Farkas judges my valor. _

Isobel smiled to herself as her eyes wandered over to where the warrior sat, sharpening his sword. They had set out early in the morning and made it to the Cairn in good time, and were now preparing to enter the cave. She had found them a place to hide near the entrance, under a rocky outcropping surrounded by trees. She put her writing kit into her pack and wondered briefly if she could talk him into a quick bit of fun before they set off.

"Farkas," she said, her tone putting much meaning into that one word.

He laughed, sparing her a grin. "Shouldn't we celebrate _after _our victory?"

Pouting for effect, she shrugged and checked that her bow, arrows, and blades were all secure. "As you wish."

They exchanged amused glances and then got serious about the task ahead of them.

"I'm quite adept at picking off the enemy from afar, so if you can keep that damn noisy armor of yours from clanking too much, this should be pretty easy."

Within an hour, she was regretting having said anything of the sort. While she was able to kill many draugr before they woke, there were more of the dead guardians here than she'd seen in her travels, and keeping up with them was a challenge. The loot they were collecting along the way helped take the sting out of the fight. They finally found themselves in a central chamber with large chairs, some tables and a bookshelf, with three smaller chambers branching off to one side. The first, on the left, was open; the second caved in; the third sealed with a steel gate. Isobel pointed to the first chamber.

"More potions!" she said, peering into the darkened space. "I'm going to take a look. See if you can find a way to open that gate." Leaving Farkas to explore, she stepped into the room on the left, collecting the potions she had spotted on a side table. "Oh, here's a lever."

She reached out and pushed the lever to the right and was relieved to hear grinding gears and the rattle of steel, until she turned around to see she had opened the other gate, but had also locked herself into the smaller chamber. Moving the lever back to its original position didn't do anything.

"Shit! Farkas? Farkas, where are you?" Rushing to the gate, she peered out between the bars to find Farkas staring back at her from across the room. He burst out laughing and nearly fell to the ground in his amusement.

"Now look what you got yourself into."

"Very funny. When you're finished laughing your ass off, could you help me out?" She gripped the bars and tried to shake them. There was no give to them at all.

He came closer to her, eyes scanning the walls. "Hang on, hang on. Just sit tight and I'll find the release."

The sound of footsteps drew her attention to the left and she saw five people rush into the room through the gate she'd just opened. They spread out across the room, weapons drawn. "Farkas, look out!" she shouted, reaching for her bow and arrow.

"Your mistake, Companion," one of the men growled.

"Which one is that?" another asked.

"It doesn't matter," the first replied. "He wears the armor, he dies."

This last comment confused Isobel and she looked up to see what was going on. Farkas had turned to face the others, who were pressing forward. She fumbled with her arrows and nocked one, bringing the bow up to aim. Farkas had backed up to the bars of her current prison, blocking her shot.

"Killing you will make for an excellent story," another member of the small band of men growled.

Isobel's mind raced. This was not good at all. He was outnumbered, and if he died, she was in a very awkward position. Alone with five men, locked in a cage. _Shit, shit, shit. Don't lose it now, girl. Breathe_, she thought as she stepped to Farkas's right to aim again.

"None of you will be alive to tell it," Farkas shouted.

What happened next was so unexpected, it took a moment for Isobel to understand what was going on. At first she thought Farkas had been shot in the belly with an arrow, though she couldn't see where it might have come from. He suddenly bent over at the waist, and began pulling at his armor. There was a shift in the air, similar to that which she felt when using magic, and then Farkas was...

_Sprouting hair?_ Isobel froze, transfixed by the sight before her. Farkas was changing, no longer a man, but a beast, a..._Werewolf?_Isobel was horrified and hoped she was seeing things, but as she watched, the gentle warrior became a tall, ferocious wolf that could walk on its hind legs. Gone was the man, and in his place was a mountain of fur, fangs, claws, and a snarling, murderous disposition.

"You never should have come here!"

"You won't be leaving alive!"

And then Farkas, or what had been her lover, was lashing out at the others. Why they had foolishly taunted him instead of taking advantage of his transformation was beyond her, but it was proving fatal. As the men shouted and tried to land hits with their swords, Farkas's claws ripped a man's throat out with one swipe, peeled the flesh off another's face. It took all of Isobel's strength to turn her focus on his attackers. She managed to get one in the eye with an arrow, dropping him instantly. It was too little too late, however. The screaming was over, the men were dead, and the wolf that was Farkas ran to her left, out of sight. Within seconds the bars that had held her captive were sliding up into the rock above her.

Farkas ran back into her line of sight, himself again, and approached her to collect his armor. "Isobel? I am sorry if I frightened you."

She let out a startled yelp and took a step back. "Don't you come any closer! Just...What the...You..." She paused, took a breath, and shouted, "What the _fuck _was that?"

Farkas looked thoroughly apologetic as he refastened his armor. "It is a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts, fearsome."

Isobel thought she might be sick. This wasn't quite what she had signed up for. "What? You're going to make me-"

He cut her off, raising his hands. "No. Only the Circle have the beastblood. Prove your honor to be a Champion. 'Eyes on the prey, not on the horizon.'" He looked around at the damage he had caused. "We...ah...we should keep moving. There are still the draugr to worry about, and the fragment to find. Isobel?"

She took a tentative step forward, her heart pounding in her chest. Farkas stared back at her, not some animal, not the beast she had just seen kill four men in a matter of seconds. It was just Farkas. She shook her head, not sure she should trust herself to speak. _Trust. Can I trust Farkas? He has been a kind man, a good friend to me, a lover, but..._It was too much to take in and she needed some air.

"Isobel, please." Farkas reached a hand out to her, eyes pleading with her.

She looked at his hand, wondering how it was it wasn't covered in blood, and shuddered. He saw it; she could tell by the way he withdrew his hand and looked away.

"I...need time, Farkas. Let's just go."

x ~ x~ x

What had started out as a nice walk in the country and an afternoon of adventuring, with the promise of an intimate encounter under a blanket of stars, ended on a very flat note. Farkas explained that the men who had attacked him were members of the Silver Hand, sworn to slay werewolves, but that was the extent of their conversation from that point on. They continued through the cave and found the fragment of Wuuthraad, finally stepping back out into fresh air as the sun was setting.

Barely able to bring herself to look at Farkas, Isobel broke the silence. "We should camp here for the night and head out at dawn."

He nodded his agreement and began to build a fire, while she prepared a meal of bread, cheese, and dried fish. They had found bottles of mead on their journey, and she opened those and set them out. They ate and drank in silence, and when they turned in for the night, they slept apart.

x ~ x ~ x

Isobel wanted to go home to think about what had happened and how she felt about associating with werewolves, but Vilkas happened to be returning from a job and met her and Farkas at the city gate. He took in their subdued demeanor without comment.

"You have the fragment?" Farkas nodded. "Then you should come to Jorrvaskr immediately. Both of you."

Isobel nodded, deliberately looking anywhere else but at the two brothers. Vilkas was a member of the Circle, too, as was Aela, Skjor, and of course Kodlak. _Werewolves. I can't believe it. _And yet, now that she thought of it, they all had golden colored eyes, something she hadn't seen before. _Why didn't I notice that?_Other thoughts came to her then, the way Farkas made love, the howling she'd heard after their first night together...

Vilkas's voice interrupted her train of thought as they climbed the steps to the Companions' mead hall. "Let's collect the others on the way to the training grounds."

Farkas was nodding, holding the door open for her, and then they were surrounded by other members, welcoming them back, asking about the fragment and their adventures. If she had thought to try to get out of this, to just call this a favor for some friends and leave, never to return, it was too late; they were accepting her as one of their own and she felt she couldn't refuse it, not now. She was led outside to the training grounds, and presented to the Circle members.

Kodlak spoke. "Brothers and Sisters of the Circle. Today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?"

Farkas stepped forward, speaking to Isobel directly. She met his gaze. "I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us," he responded.

"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" Kodlak asked.

Farkas's response was immediate. "I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us."

A wave of guilt washed over her then. _He means it, truly, and has never given me reason to doubt that he would stand at my side if I needed him. Any member of the Circle would, likely even Vilkas. And here I am thinking Farkas is somehow _less _a man because he has this...ability? What am I afraid of? Even as a beast, he seemed to know who I was, that I was a friend. _It didn't sound like the tales she'd heard, of mindless beasts who would kill their loved ones. There wasn't even a full moon; could he change at will?

Kodlak continued to ask questions; Farkas answered them. Each response deepened Isobel's sense of guilt and she could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes.

"And would you raise your sword in her honor?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

"I would lead the song of victory as our mead hall reveled in her stories."

"Then the judgement of this Circle is complete." Kodlak said with a smile. "Her heart beats with the fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

"It shall be so," Vilkas replied. The others nodded somberly and, after a brief pause, made their way back into the mead hall.

Farkas lingered behind Kodlak, who stepped forward and took Isobel's hand. "Well, lass, you're one of us now. I trust you won't disappoint."

"Thank you, Kodlak. I appreciate the trust you've placed in me." _What else can I say?_ She wanted to ask him about the Circle's _gift_, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She wasn't supposed to know, after all.

He clapped a hand on her shoulder and nodded to the door. "You both look tired, and have earned your rest. Come in and drink with us if you are up to it."

Shortly, Isobel and Farkas were alone in the darkened training area. He watched her carefully for a moment, keeping his distance from her.

"Isobel, can we talk about this?" There was a sadness in his eyes, uncertainty in his voice, and it nearly undid her.

"Yes...no. I mean, let me speak." She reached out tentatively and took his hand in hers. Now, it didn't look like something to be feared; it was simply a strong, hard working hand, capable of a loving touch. "I feel terrible, and I don't mean about what happened. That was a shock, but I think I lost sight of the fact that you were still you, just...just-"

"Different?" Farkas supplied, hopefully.

"Yeah, different. I think I'm okay. And I am sorry if I disappointed you."

He stepped closer, maintaining eye contact, and slid his free hand into her hair. "I would never hurt you, Isobel. You are my shield sister, my friend. I would have told you, but I couldn't. I wish you hadn't found out that way."

She shivered then, whether from a chill or desire, she wasn't sure. But she did feel desire. Now that she had made up her mind to accept this strange and frightening development, she wanted to be with him. She pressed her cheek to his hand and smiled.

"I understand. Would you like to come to my house for a drink? Maybe stay the night?"

He pulled her closer, smoothing her hair back. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, and before she could say anything else, he was kissing her again and leading her toward the Plains District, to Breezehome. They stumbled in, Isobel mumbled an apology to Lydia, and then she clambered up the stairs to her room with Farkas in tow. She was nervous, though she knew nothing had _really_ changed; she simply knew something else about him now. Nevertheless, it felt as though this was their first time together and she giggled when she felt herself blushed as he paused to watch her undress. The sight of him naked before her, all muscles and manliness, desire burning in his eyes, aroused her and she shrugged off the last of clothes. A low growl escaped his throat as he advanced on her, pulling her body close to his.

Farkas lifted her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. He stretched out alongside her, slid his hand up her leg and over her belly to cup her breast in his hand. He pinched her nipple, teased it, and sucked on it, sending shivers of delight throughout her body. She groaned as his hand dipped between her legs.

"You are not afraid?" Farkas asked, his breath tickling her cheek.

"Perhaps a little," she replied honestly. "But it's...exciting."

He could certainly feel her desire as his fingers played with her and slipped between her folds to tease her. Animal instincts took over as she moved her hips against him, and he was on her and sinking deep into her, quickly.

"Ah!" she cried out, bucking her hips up to meet his as he thrust into her.

They made love with a new intensity. Farkas took her roughly, shifting her from her back to her stomach to her knees, bringing her to a climax more than once. When she thought she couldn't go on much longer, she'd find herself begging for more. Farkas finally shouted out with his own orgasm, the steady rhythm his hips had been keeping shuddering to a halt. They lay together, panting, for several minutes before Isobel spoke.

"I'm glad I didn't let a little thing like lycanthropy put me off. That was…great." She smiled as laughter rumbled in Farkas's chest.

"So am I, lass."

Isobel drifted off to sleep, arms and legs entangled with Farkas's, with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Greetings, readers! I am happy to be back after a lengthy time out to deal with RL. My year started with a call from my doctor – abnormal test results from my physical, tests for cervical cancer, the dreaded waiting periods, surgery and more waiting, all while dealing with sciatica, and The Man Cold. The good news is I do not have cancer, and I managed to get over the other ailments as well. Yay me! Consequently, I have been encouraging all the women I know to keep on taking care of themselves with annual check ups. So consider yourselves encouraged.

My thanks goes out to Zute, Zevgirl, and Mille Libri, for their support and encouragement, not only with my writing, but also during the past few months. Bethesda should also get some credit here, of course, for giving me a universe to play with. And I certainly can't thank my readers enough for popping in to read and comment. Reviews are always greatly appreciated! I hope to hear from you. Cheers, Biff


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